


Champion Blooded

by PickledGinger



Series: Tales of Kirkwall [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5711986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickledGinger/pseuds/PickledGinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this rambling tale follows the young adult life of Leandra Aveline Hawke, daughter to Marian Hawke and Fenris. Gifted with magic, and a powerful sense of right and wrong, Leandra declares herself the champion of Kirkwall's oppressed and downtrodden, attempting to fight for the rights of mages and elves in the aftermath of the Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I am Leandra Aveline Amell! Daughter to Marian Amell, Champion of Kirkwall, and heritor of the Amell estate!” The stocky young woman declared, crossing her arms in the middle of High-Town’s busy market, “Mage of the Free Circle, and mercenary! Who do you think you are, trying to steal from the Elvhen!?”

The two scruffy men she had tossed to the ground scrambled to their feet, “ser, they’re just knife-ears! Why do you care?”

Leandra ground her teeth, “You bite your tongue! My father is a “knife-ear,” and he holds more honour in his left pinky than you have in your disgusting shem bodies. Now hand over the coin, and get out of here!” 

The men moved to draw their daggers, and Leandra flexed her left arm, lighting the intricate white tattoos dancing over her skin.

“You may want to rethink that,” She sneered, “You know, before I actually have to injure you.” 

The man on the left tossed her the coin purse, and grabbed his cohort by the arm, dragging him away. She grinned and laughed, “Maker’s bollocks you guys are piss poor at this.” She handed the purse over to the frightened elvhen merchant, “Hey. You alright? They didn’t break anything did they?”

“N-no! No. Thank you,” The elderly man said, “You said you were an Amell? Are you truly the daughter of the Champion?”

“I am!” Leandra said brightly, “Though you might say I was raised by elves. One elf, rather… and in all honesty, he’s more a Qunari than an elf…”

“You mean Fenris of Tevinter? The bounty hunter?”

“That’s my dad! He’s out here somewhere… grocery shopping,” She dusted off the elvhen man’s soiled leather vest, “It’s my eighteenth birthday today. I get my favourite foods. And I’m going to the Viscount’s and announcing myself. As heir to the Amell family estate- Andrate’s grace, why am I telling you all this? I’m just so excited, you know?”

The man chuckled, “I was here in Kirkwall when the Battle occurred. Your mother saved me from some demon possessed blood mages, and lyrium crazed Templars. Your father I remember as well. You’re a welcome sight, Lady Amell. Maserannas.”

The man took his leave, and Leandra was left waiting for her father to return from the baker and the butcher. There were a few people muttering and staring. They had seen her before, but she had never been boisterous about her identity. There had been talk, of course. All of Kirkwall knew her mother and her father had been married, but she had always said her name was Leandra Leto. And she had not made many close friends. They had now heard the truth, and they were bound to whisper. She couldn’t be bothered. She was too busy whistling, and day-dreaming about the delicious food she would have for dinner. She was smacked over the head with a roll of paper.

“You’re practically drooling, Kadan,” Her father scolded, “Show some decorum.”

“Ehh? How? I’m hungry!” She said, shooting him her best Hawke grin.

Fenris smiled back lightly, “You are impossible. Your mother would be proud of just how impossible you turned out. Maker… where did I go wrong?”

Leandra’s smile brightened further as they wandered back to the mansion, “You know, dad. You’ve never dated once since mom passed. You’ve still got some of your looks. Why don’t you try your luck?”

“Are you trying to set me up with someone?” He answered with a smirk, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Aunty Aveline has been trying for years. Come on, dad. Uncle Varr says back in the day you were a pretty big… um… slut.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes, “I’ve no interest in that sort of thing.”

“Come on, pops. I saw the cute bar tender at the Hanged man eyeing you up last week!” 

“He’s twenty five!”

“So? You’re an elf! We age gracefully. I mean, you’ve got a few wrinkles around your eyes there… and there’s frown lines around your mouth and between you eyebrows… ooh- that’s bad. Ugh. No. never mind.” She joked, elbowing him in the side. 

“That’s enough, Marian-“

She clammed up, “Uh…”

Fenris took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, “What did you want? For dinner, I mean.”

“The soup that Merrill makes? With the potatoes and leeks?” She asked.

“Dalish food? Truly?” He sighed, “I suppose we should invite her… I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Why do you always do that? Pretend you don’t like her? She’s super nice! And you always smile around her,” Leandra said. 

“She’s a friend… however… She’s a blood-mage and I don’t want you be influenced by that… disgusting magic. You know magic isn’t something I enjoy.”

“Ugh. Dad,” Leandra rolled her eyes, “You know that stuff weirds me out.” 

“One can never be too careful,” He said, scratching at his tattooed arms. The marks had always fascinated Leandra. She knew that the story behind them was possibly the worst thing to happen to someone in the entire ninth Age, but they seemed so powerful. And beautiful. Two things she always wanted to be. Without her father’s knowledge she had consulted with a friend of hers at the Gallows, convincing him to give her Lyrium tattoos of her own. Her father had been livid, and nearly broke a window in their mansion when he discovered them. He had calmed down once she explained she had gotten them to honour his sacrifices. But only slightly. He still grimaced when he saw them. Leandra suspected that would never change. She took his hand and swung it absentmindedly, like he would do with her as a child. This brought a small smile back to his face.

“I still recall your younger years in vivid detail. You’ve grown up so quickly, Kadan.” 

“I shall attempt to age more slowly in the future.” 

He gave a half-hearted scowl, “You are more like your mother every day. Maker, how do I stop it?” 

“Really? I think I look more like you. It’s in the nose. And the chin, right?” She tried on a dour grimace, “Like that?” 

Fenris stopped walking a moment, and took her face in his hands, “Hm. You’re the spitting image of your mother. And… there’s a bit of me in there somewhere.” 

“Maker’s breath, dad, can you let go of my cheeks? We’re in the middle of High-town!” She said, batting his hands away. 

“Mmrgh. You used to like it when I pinched your cheeks,” He said.

“No. I didn’t. Nobody likes that.” 

He rolled his eyes again, “I’ll be at home. You should head to Low-Town and get Merrill. I’ll start dinner, and find your Aunt Aveline and Uncle Donnic.” 

“Yes, sir!” She salute him with a grin and took off running. She bolted down the stairs and through the streets of low-town, and into the Elven Alienage. She knocked on the familiar rickety wooden door. It was promptly opened, and the equally familiar smiling face greeted her.

“Ah! Leandra! Happy birthday, Da’len!” Merrill hugged her tight.

“Maserannas! You know, I’ve had an awesome day so far. I totally shoulder tossed these two shems for pickpocketing an elven vendor. And tonight I’m going to go to the Viscount and declare myself Marian Hawke’s heir. I’m nervous about that, but it should be great. Oh sorry I forgot why I came here! Come cook with my dad! For my birthday dinner! Please, Aunty Merrill? Come on!”

“You know I could never say no to you,” Merrill smiled, “Look at those eyes! Let me guess. Your father has been telling you how much you look like your mother all day?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” She laughed, “H-he… uh, even called me Marian. I think he’s feeling a bit down today, actually.”

“Oh my… yes, I’m sure. Well… perhaps my being at the mansion will put him on edge enough to make him forget about it,” Merrill offered. 

“Sounds like a plan. I was actually going to go see if Ser Diane would want to come.” Ser Diane was the Templar assigned to Leandra while she was trained at the Free Circle- the loose associations of Mages and Templars who were paired for safety and ease of study. These Templars were young. Some still in training, so their charges would be closer to their age. Ser Diane had been fifteen when they met, and Leandra had been twelve. They had bonded quickly, and Ser Diane had lived in their family mansion until Leandra had turned seventeen. She had been like a sister. Leandra was informed by Merrill that when she was an infant, the Templar order had been an oppressive presence, bullying mages and trying to keep them as bound as possible. She was blessed to be born at the cusp of the Inquisition. It was thanks to Inquisitor Levellan that she could stay with her loving father while being trained and protected. 

“Ah. Da’len? Let me get you a gift from my dresser before we go!” She headed back inside and rifled through the drawers. She came back a while later with a ring, “Your mother found this is an old elvhen ruin. It’s a carving of the Dread Wolf. She thought I’d like it, and she gave it to me. It didn’t fit, so I kept it all these years. I’m sure she’d be eager for you to have it.” 

Leandra slid it on her finger, “Wow… This is… a real piece of our history. Dad would never tell me anything about elves. I don’t even think he knows much. But this is real. Thank you, Aunty Merrill!” 

“Of course. Anything to ensure our culture is remembered. Your father may not be devoted to the history of our people, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be.”

“You know… I said something like that to him the other day. You know what he told me?” Leandra asked, as Merrill shut the door behind them. 

“I can only imagine it was something unpleasant.”

“He said in no short terms: “ Leandra slouched forward and furrowed her brow, and lowered her voice in the way she had perfected, “‘You’re not an elf, Kadan. You’re elf-blooded. There is a difference, whether you believe me or not.’”

“You’ll always be an elf to me, Da’len. In fact, some clans take in halflings as their own. Though we try to adhere to the ancient ways, we are progressing. The elvhen look after their own, ears pointed or round.” Merrill smiled, and tugged on Leandra’s ear playfully. 

She laughed, “Don’t let dad here you say that stuff.” 

“I think it would be beneficial for you to stay a while with a Dalish clan; learn their magic and discipline. Certainly your father wouldn’t object to more discipline?”

“I wanted to go to Tevinter, too,” Leandra shrugged, “He really took issue to that one. I’ve heard it’s changed over there… and he still wouldn’t even entertain the idea!” 

“I’m afraid you won’t ever see any change in that.” 

“Well I can try,” she replied, “Now, come on! We need to find Ser Diane!”


	2. Chapter 2

On the way to the chantry- the New Chantry, as Merrill reminded her- Leandra prattled on about the things she wanted for her birthday. New sabatons, a better bevour, because wearing her gorget annoyed her. She wanted new rune work done on her sword, and a bit done on her staff. Merrill had to laugh. Leandra really was a perfect blend of Hawke and Fenris- obsessed with her armour and its meticulous upkeep, but with a light in her eyes equal to her mother’s. Leandra picked flowers on their way, and debated spell structure- “obviously the glyphs don’t have to be neat if they get the job done!” “The neatness is a tool in itself! The discipline used to cast neatly bleeds over into other spell work!”- As luck would have it, Ser Diane Tailor was in the courtyard, tending to a box garden full of herbs.

“Leane!” Ser Diane grinned, dropping her trowel, and running to hug her former charge, “Avannas, little elf.”

“Hey!” Leandra laughed, “I haven’t been greeted in Tevene in ages. Weird to hear it. How’s your wife?”

“great of course! But she’s been on my butt about starting a family. I can’t do that right now, I’m due for a promotion, which comes with more work,” Diane said, “and you! It’s your birthday, right? Your father gushing as usual?”

“In his own way. Speaking of which, would you do me the honour of coming to the mansion for supper? My dad would love to have you.”

Ser Diane nodded, “Wouldn’t miss it. I haven’t spoken to Fenris in ages. I’m guessing he’s not changed much.”

Merrill and Leandra laughed, “Hardly. You’d have better luck asking the mountains to move,” Merrill said. 

Diane took Leandra’s hand in her own, and let herself be lead back down to the manor house. When they got there Merrill headed right to the kitchen, announcing herself by taking the spoon from Fenris’s hand, and tutting gently. 

“… fasta vass, can’t you let me cook in my own kitchen?” Fenris frowned. But the words lacked bite. It was obvious to everyone that he was happy to see her. He took a towel to his hands before offering one of them to Ser Diane, “Welcome home, Ser Tailor. How long has it been?”

“About a year,” She offered, clasping the hand tightly, “reminds me, Leane’s evaluation is coming up in Matrinalis. It’s been since her last one since we’ve spoken.” 

“Ah. Of course,” Fenris said, “I’m sure she will more than surpass your expectations.”

“Dad. Come on,” Leandra sighed.

“I only say what I do out of honesty.”

“She’s a talented mage, sir,” Diane agreed. 

“She is. Her mother would have been very proud,” Merrill said, tossing a bay leaves into the pot.

Fenris twitched and turned back to cooking, taking a knife- not entirely the epitome of serenity- to the large carrots on the cutting board. 

That was it. Leandra ran her hands through her hair and let out a huff, “Can we stop talking about Marian Hawke? I swear to the Creators it’s been nothing but “Mom” this and “Hawke” that, all day.”

“It’s important to think about,” Fenris said, “You’re going to declare yourself the Amell Heir tonight. Your mother should be the first thing in your mind.” 

Leandra groaned, “Yeah. Mom is the best. I get it. But… you know, I’m eighteen tonight! Can I be my own person, for like, twelve seconds?” 

Fenris sighed, “Yes. Of course. Forgive me, Kadan. We’re all… just…”

“Very, very proud of you!” Merrill finished for him brightly. 

Leandra relaxed a bit, “Yeah… Yeah… Thank you. Uh… dad?” 

Fenris nodded.

“Uh… if it’s that important that I… think about mom. Could I wear that armour? The Champion’s armour? Th-the replica, I mean.” She had been drooling over that armour since she took her first steps. The Chantry had commissioned it soon after Hawke’s death, and Fenris had inherited it after the mass mourning, keeping it locked in a trunk in the basement. Leandra had only seen it once or twice. 

“The replica… Yes. Of course, Kadan,” Fenris said softly. “I’m sure it would make a statement. I’ll help you into it after supper… the bevour might be a bit high for you.” 

Leandra felt absolutely bubbly. Finally, she’d be the champion she trained to be. She had her own armour, of course, but this was something different. It was armour that carried meaning. Armour that reflected the history of Kirkwall- the strife and violence. And it’s pride. That’s the feeling she had in her chest now. Pride. As much as she desired to be her own sort of champion, her mother’s legacy remained an untainted goal. She held back giggles. How scary would she look, barging into the viscount’s office in full Champion armour, with her staff on her back? It was like something out of her uncle Varric’s books, “I’m going to look amazing! Just you wait!” She said eagerly, hugging her father tight, “now move over. You’re absolute rubbish at dalish cooking.” 

“He lacks imagination,” Merrill teased, passing a wooden spoon over to Leandra for a taste test. 

“No. It’s because I’m not dalish,” Fenris shot back, “I’d like to see you cook something tevene.” 

“I’d honour that challenge. Give me a recipe,” Merrill smiled.

“They still don’t get along?” Diane asked Leandra softly.

“Huh? Oh no. They love each other, truly,” She laughed, “They’re two sides of a coin.”

“What a strange coin.”

“Dad? You can’t cook worth shit, just let Merrill do it,” Leandra called over to them.

Fenris flushed, “I can cook just fine, Maker damn it. St-stop touching that, abomination! It’s…. I organized it…” 

“Oh you organized it?” Merrill asked, a light mocking tone to her voice, “Fenris, if you’d like to cook this meal yourself, you need only to ask.”

“N-no. I appreciate the assistance,” He managed, sighing and relinquishing the pot of stew to the more capable hands, “Kadan? Is there anything else you’d like for your birthday? I’ve sent your blades to the blacksmith for repair, and placed an order with the circle’s tailor for new robes. They should arrive by Friday- I’m sorry for the delay, of course- but you’ve requested nothing else.”

Leandra bit the inside of her cheek, thinking over her discussion with Merrill just an hour eariler, “Can I ask you something strange?” 

“Of course.” 

“Merrill is a talented mage- yes, even though she’s a blood-mage. But see! That’s just the thing! She’s been using blood magic her entire life! Not once has she even gotten close to possession!”

“Regardless. What is your question?” Her father said, crossing his arms. 

“Dad I want to travel! I know that sounds so stereotypical, but… the fight isn’t over! The Inquisition may have ended the fight between Mage and Templar, and restored whatever was left to its proper function, but Mages aren’t equal. We’re not! And short of going to Tevinter, I’m not going to learn how to fix things! A-and not just the Mage problem! The slave problem, the elf problem! Dad, we’re still treated like dirt! Worse than dirt! You yourself were so oppressed you don’t even remember where you came from!”

“I came from Minrathous. I was born in the city. What else would you like me to consider?” Fenris said, a chill slipping into his voice. 

Leandra took a deep breath, “We were immortal, dad! Come on! Don’t you want to know more about where we came from before the shems came and fucked it all up? I do. I want to learn more! I want to study the Fade! I want to find out what makes us different and see if it can be used to bring us closer together.”

“…. Ask your question, Kadan.”

“I want to study with the Dalish, dad. I’ve been trained as a human, now let me be an elf!”

Fenris balled his fists, then relaxed them, “You… want to leave Kirkwall?”

“Yes… I mean, no. I don’t want to leave. I just think there’s potential for me elsewhere. You felt that, didn’t you? That’s why you left Tevinter.”

“I left because I was enslaved. You… you do not understand, Kadan.” 

“Exactly! I don’t! I want to!” Leandra insisted.

“Fenris… the Dalish pride themselves on focus and discipline… it is… not the worst notion,” Merrill said. 

“… I… I would prefer if you studied here. At the Gallows,” Fenris muttered, “Where I can see you. Where I can still protect you.”

“Is that what this is about? It’s about mom again, isn’t it? Mythal’s grace, dad… I’m not going to jump into some Fade-hole, and disappear.”

“She didn’t disappear!” Fenris said, slamming his fist on the table, “She sacrificed herself for the greater good. Leaving me behind! And I won’t lose you the same way!” 

A stiffening silence filled the mansion. Merrill turned back to her soup, and Leandra stood incredulous. 

"... Maker, Dad..."

“By Andraste… I’m sorry…” Her father said softly, “I… didn’t intend to lose my temper. G-go get washed up for supper… I will think about it, and we’ll discuss it at a later time."


End file.
